


Leaving Your Soul Behind – missing scenes to “The Mouse”

by hiddenfiresindeed



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:36:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenfiresindeed/pseuds/hiddenfiresindeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy comes to a realization that could cripple his fire fighting career and break up 51’s  paramedic team. Additional scenes to “The Mouse”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving Your Soul Behind – missing scenes to “The Mouse”

Title: Leaving Your Soul Behind – missing scenes to “The Mouse”  
Characters/Pairings: Johnny, Roy  
Rating: K+ for violence  
Word Count: 10,385  
Summary: Roy comes to a realization that could cripple his fire fighting career and break up 51’s paramedic team. Additional scenes to “The Mouse”.  
Author’s Note: I only recently watched my first episodes of Emergency, and about half-way through the second episode, I realized that I would end up shipping these two! The show is a fascinating look at medicine back in the 70’s, and it’s surprising how much has changed… and how much really hasn’t.  
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything pertaining to Emergency. All quotes in italics are taken from the original scripts from the episodes “Frequency” written by Kenneth Dorward and “The Mouse”, written by Edwin Self, and are borrowed here for story-telling purposes, and not for profit.

 

“Morning, Johnny. “ Roy looked up from the latrine sink, flicking shaving cream off his razor and grinning across at his partner.  
“Mornin’” the younger man mumbled back, tripping over his long feet as he entered the room, and swiping his palm across his left eye sleepily.  
“Dix just called and talked to the Cap. That MVA from last night is doing fine; she’ll be transferred out of the ICU this morning.”  
“Umm, that’s good,” came the slurred reply, still quieter than a fully-awake Gage would be. “Man, I thought for sure we’d lost her on the ride over.”  
John flipped the tap on, and Roy leaned over to nudge his arm. “Well, hurry up, huh? C shift will be here soon, and I want my coffee before it’s all gone.” Roy dried his hands and face on a towel, watching out of the corner of his eyes in amusement as his partner slowly came to life and shook off the lingering drowsiness.  
“Hey, uh, Roy?” Johnny looked down quickly, adjusting the suspenders on his turnouts nervously before continuing. “What d’ya have planned for your days off?”  
De Soto leaned back against one of the closed locker doors, watching his partner curiously. The brown eyes were downcast, and dark lashes hid their expression, but it was a look his friend knew well, and he knew the eyes were alternating between hopefulness and hesitancy. Roy grinned.  
“Oh, I don’t know – guess Joanne and I haven’t really made any plans yet. What did you have in mind?”  
The dark eyes flickered up to meet his partner’s, and the corner of Johnny’s mouth twitched. “I’m putting new brakes on the Rover tomorrow, and I could sure use a second pair of hands.”  
Roy chewed his lip for a moment, thinking. He had planned on going out with Joanne’s father to the golf club that afternoon, but was sure his father-in-law would not mind rescheduling. He knew Johnny hated being alone, and understood what most people didn’t – that the younger paramedic’s disastrous track record with women was mainly due to the fact that his friend would ask any and every girl out, regardless of compatibility, in order to avoid a solitary evening. He smiled. “You can count on it,” he answered, and was rewarded with a crooked grin. “Just call me tomorrow when you’re ready.”  
“Hey, com’on, guys, the Cap is waitin’ for you.” Chet stuck his head in the door, and the two men turned towards the voice. Johnny opened his mouth to retort, but his reply was drowned out by the station’s SCU tones being sounded.  
“Station 51, Station 14, Engine 12. Structure fire at 5863 Beaumont Avenue.5-8-6-3 Beaumont Avenue. Cross street North Ridge. Time out 7:35.”  
John looked over at his partner’s drooping shoulders as they realized their day off would be postponed a few hours. Running out the door after Chet, they scrambled into the squad’s cab, and Roy passed the address slip to Johnny.  
“Station 51, KMG 365,” Roy heard the familiar chant as he reached back for his helmet and turned engine over.  
Pulling into the residential driveway, the paramedics scurried out of the squad and hurriedly began pulling on their turnout coats, as a middle-aged woman rushed up to the engine behind them.  
“My mother!” she gasped, coughing and sputtering. “My mother is still inside – please, help her!” She reached out to Capt. Stanley frantically. “Hurry!”  
“All right,” Stanley laid a calm hand on the woman’s arm. “Roy, John,” he called back over his shoulder, “We have someone still inside.”  
“On it, Cap!” Roy shouted back, quickly fastening his respirator on. He followed Johnny down the smooth pebble walk towards the house while sliding the mask into place. The right side of the house was engulfed in flames, and Chet and Marco had already moved to stand near the front door, aiming the two-and-a-half into the anterior of the house.  
Roy tapped them on the shoulder to slide by. “We have a victim somewhere inside,” he mumbled through the respirator, and Chet shook his hand in acknowledgement.   
“Just be careful – it’s going to go any minute now,” the lineman cautioned.  
Nodding, Johnny hurried inside and opened the first door on the left. Flames were beginning to spread to that portion of the house, and the smoke was becoming thick and dense, reducing visibility.  
Quickly scanning the room for any occupants, he moved to the next door on the right, a small bathroom, but then heard a shout from his partner further down the corridor. “Found her, Johnny!”   
Moving as quickly as he could through the wall of smoke, he located Roy in a back bedroom, bending over a small, elderly woman in the bed against the wall. Roy leaned down to scoop her up, and Johnny looked around worriedly. “Alright, let’s get her out of here.” An angry noise groaned from the floor above, and the young man’s eyes turned up nervously. “Roy! Look ou-“ His warning was drowned out by a deep rumble from above, as part of the ceiling began falling through the second floor. A heavy beam swung down, striking Johnny in the back of the head before falling to the ground beside the prostrate fireman.  
The air was hot and had the smell and feel of a fire prepped to flash-over. Roy glanced quickly at his unconscious partner and hesitated, his brow knit worriedly, but at that moment, the roar from the other side of the house increased in intensity. Grunting in frustration, he shifted the elderly woman in his arms and turned towards the bedroom door. Stumbling over debris, the senior paramedic moved quickly through the smoke-filled house, a panicked urgency for his friend drowning out any other residual fears. Roy hurtled past the doorway, shouting as he ran, “Marco, Johnny’s still in there… in the back. I think he’s injured.”  
“Got him, Roy!” Marco promised, instantly dropping the hose and running past Chet through the smokey barrier. Roy continued quickly down the pathway across the lawn, carrying his burden towards the squad’s equipment, his breath coming in hitched gasps and his eyes turning desperately back towards the house, an icy, steel grip beginning to close around his chest.  
“C’mon, Johnny,” he murmured under his breath, fighting the urge to pass off the victim to a nearby fireman and run back into the house for his absent friend. He knew that if he were in there, he would be able to get Johnny out in time – he always did. “Come on,” he whispered again, his head dizzy and reeling as he lowered the elderly woman on the yellow blanket already spread out on the grass. As he stood to get the drug box that had been set out on the street curb, a deafening explosion erupted in his ears, causing his head to jerk up in horror as the fire flashed through the front door, shattering the windows.  
“Johnny,” his voice cried out in an unnatural pitch, and he stumbled for a moment, his legs weak with grief. He turned his body to run towards the house, but an episode of harsh coughing from the woman on the blanket recalled him to his duty. Forcefully, he turned back to the victim, his eyes momentarily clouded from shocked disbelief. Unnaturally steady hands reached to feel a carotid pulse, before moving to rest on the woman’s abdomen, assessing for spontaneous respirations. Taking a moment to glance over his shoulder at the blazoning house, his eyes strained for a glimpse of his friend, his stomach rolling in terror. The billowing smoke shifted towards the north with the wind change, and through it, he was finally able to see the hazy outline of Marco and Johnny, prostrate on the front lawn near the porch, where Marco had leaped just before the flashover. Capt. Stanley and Chet were already working quickly to smother the flames that had ignited on the backs of their turn-out gear.  
The woman on the grass began stirring, and Roy finished obtaining her vital signs, slipping a nasal cannula onto the woman’s face. Assured that she was alright, he left her to the care of a firefighter from Engine 12, and picking up his equipment, he hurried over to the two injured firemen. Marco was sitting up with the captain’s assistance, and a cursory glance showed Roy that his burns were minor and the lineman was stable. Turning on his heel to kneel beside his partner, Roy swallowed hard and reached with a firm hand to feel for life signs, his shoulders shaking but fingers methodically performing the tasks they had done a thousand times before. Anger and terror warred in his chest, turning his core into an icy numbness, but he pushed the emotions back, leaning over to gently lift an eyelid and check the dark eyes for pupillary reaction. Now certain that his partner was at least alive for the moment, he called for his drug box and the biophone.  
Lifting the receiver, he spoke quickly into the phone, willing his voice to remain steady and detached. “Rampart, this is Squad 51. How do you read?”  
The calm, familiar response on the other end brought his racing thoughts into a focused point. “Squad 51, we read you loud and clear.”  
“Rampart, we have three victims at the scene. First victim is a female, approximately seventy-five years of age, smoke inhalation but otherwise no obvious injuries. Vital signs are stable and we have her on 6 liters O2 cannula.” He paused to take a deep, steadying breath. “Second victim is a male, thirty-three years old, first and second degree burns to the back, total body surface approximately 5%. No other apparent injuries. Vital signs are…” he glanced at his captain and waited for him to relay his findings. “BP 134/86, pulse is 100, respirations are 16. Third victim,” he stopped for a moment, then continued in a rush of words, “Third victim is a twenty-nine year old male, unconscious but breathing on his own, probable TBI. Pupils are equal and reactive. Victim also has scattered second degree burns to his back, TBSA approximately 15%. Vitals are pulse 115, respirations 12 and BP is 117/76.” He paused, waiting for instructions, his eyes never leaving his partner’s face.   
“Squad 51,” Dr. Early’s voice on the other end came through quickly but distinctly. “Start an IV on victim number one, D51/2 at TKO, keep her on the O2 and transport. Apply sterile burn sheets to victims two and three, and start IVs with Lactated Ringers. Give 10 mg MS to victim two and transport as soon as possible.”  
“Will do, Rampart,” Roy answered as the other firemen scurried to get the needed dressing supplies. “And Rampart, be advised,” his voice wavered for a moment, and he stopped to clear his throat, “this is a Code I for victims two and three.”  
The voice on the other end ignored his momentary lapse in composure, but the response had a gentler edge to it. “Understood, 51. Rampart out.”  
Roy applied the burn sheets with Stanley and Chet’s assistance, finishing with a second set of vitals on Johnny as the ambulance pulled up. Loading the elderly victim and Johnny into the back, he watched a paramedic from 14’s escort Marco to the second ambulance that was arriving, then he swung back to climb into the rear of the ambulance, and leaned over to hand off his helmet to Chet.  
Sitting on the side board on the way back to Rampart, Roy bent over to check his partner’s pupils again, wordlessly begging for some sign of movement, terrified at the possible extent of the head injury, and horrified that he had left his injured partner behind, trapped in a burning structure.  
“C’mon, Johnny,” he mumbled, adjusting the blanket gently, “Hang on, pal.”  
Turning down the side street on the hospital approach, Johnny’s head moved slightly, and he stirred. Roy leaned over instantly, placing a calming hand on his forehead to still the paramedic. The dark eyes were glassy and clouded with pain, and Johnny blinked several times, gazing up in confusion at his friend’s worried expression.  
“Almost at Rampart, partner,” Roy told him quietly, relief washing over his face. “How do you feel?”  
Johnny turned his head again slightly against the c-collar, and opened his mouth, seeming to search for words, but the eyes fluttered and he drifted off again, the pain or the concussion taking its toll.  
Roy sank back in frustration, his blue eyes darkening with anxiety. Pulling into the ambulance entrance at Rampart General, he helped the hospital orderlies slide Johnny’s stretcher out of the cab and then followed along, holding the IV bag, leaving another set of orderlies to retrieve the elderly patient.  
Dixie met them in the hallway, her face lined with stress as one glance confirmed who the unconscious burn victim was. Escorting them into Treatment Room Three, she was quickly followed by Dr. Brackett. Roy assisted the orderlies in sliding his friend off the stretcher onto the examination bed, his hand reaching out to the uninjured shoulder to pat it reassuringly, hoping Johnny was aware of his presence. The dark eyes were fluttering again, turning in confusion from face to face while Brackett and Dixie quickly took over.  
Shining a light into the young man’s eyes, Dr. Brackett began barking orders to the hospital staff. “Get radiology in here stat – I want a complete cranial scan and spinal series. Dix, get a CBC, ABG and carboxyhemoglobin.” The chief surgeon peeled the dressing back to glance at the burns. “And notify Plastics that we have two burn patients waiting for debridement.”  
The head nurse nodded, moving away to issue orders. Another nurse stepped in to draw the labs, and Johnny flinched, rolling his head to the side with a moan, as returning consciousness brought renewed sensations of pain.  
Roy drew closer to the table, inserting himself between the smoothly transitioning team of hospital staff. “How you doin’, pal?” he bent near so his friend could hear his reassuring tones above the din around them.  
Johnny turned dark eyes up to him, pools of black that reflected the returning pain he was experiencing, and Roy’s heart stopped momentarily, the accusatory voice in the back of his head struggling to be heard. A warm hand, no longer steady, reached out again to grip one of the bare, shaking shoulders. “Just hold on, Johnny; you’re going to be alright.”  
The brown eyes held his gaze for a moment, then closed again at Roy’s touch, seeming to anchor onto it, until Brackett abruptly interrupted their silent communication.  
“Come on, Roy, let’s go outside so they can get those scans,” Brackett urged as the Radiology tech pushed the portable equipment into the room. Roy looked back down into his partner’s still, pale face and squeezed the shoulder once before following the surgeon out of the room.   
Leaning against the wall with a frustrated sigh, Roy distantly heard the words of comfort Dixie was offering him. His mind racing, the paramedic was too distracted imagining the numerous, dismal possibilities, and too consumed with internal recriminations, to comprehend what the nurse was telling him.  
Soon after, he was standing at Brackett’s elbow, looking over his shoulder at the x-ray films. “Good news, Roy,” the doctor straightened with a smile. “His head looks good. He has a slight concussion, but the scans are negative for fractures or a subdural hematoma.”  
“Dr. Pierce,” Brackett looked up as an older man in a white lab coat opened the door. “Roy, this is Dr. Pierce, the burn surgeon from upstairs.” Dixie and another nurse began to move around the room, setting up sterile fields around the quiet patient. Brackett turned to scrub before stepping into a sterile gown covering. “Roy, we’re going to twilight Johnny now so we can debride and dress the burns. He won’t need you now – wait outside, and I’ll send Dix to update you when we’re finished.”  
Roy frowned and bit his lower lip in concern, hesitant to leave Johnny alone during the painful process, but then nodded numbly and headed toward the door. Outside in the waiting room, he dropped into a seat away from the other waiting families, and sank his head into his hands with an exhausted droop of his shoulders. The internal voice he had been struggling to ignore now demanded his attention. Roy stared at a spot on the carpeted floor with unseeing eyes. He had abandoned his partner. His best friend had been injured and helpless, in a burning structure fire that was primed to flash over, and he had chosen to save a stranger and leave his friend behind. How many times had he done that, and how many more times was he going to be required to do it again?  
Roy jumped to his feet impatiently, and began to pace down the hall, trying not to think about what his partner was going through at the moment. He swiped a hand over trembling lips, grateful that the rest of 51’s company was not there to witness his uncharacteristic loss of composure.  
This was not entirely new territory - Roy had known guilt before. When Johnny had been bitten by a rattle snake the previous year, he had blamed himself for not being available to provide medical care to his friend, even though he had been miles away in the air at the time. And he had chosen the victim over Johnny more than once in the past. But this time, he had stood there, making a deliberate decision, and the consequences had been more than a laceration to the head, or a bit of smoke inhalation. His friend was lying in the room beyond, enduring a painful procedure, with possible long-term repercussions, and the head injury could have been so much worse. Roy paled at the thought, realizing he would not have been able to live with the knowledge that he had forfeited his friend’s life.  
A sudden thought stopped him in his tracks, and he stared at the white-washed wall, a chill running through him. What would he do the next time? He was a fireman, a rescue man, and the situation would happen again. Could he make that choice so assuredly next time, and could he live with the consequences? Roy wet his lips nervously, the icy pain in his chest tightening. Could he look into those warm, brown eyes, suddenly vacant and cold, and know he had allowed that vibrant spark to be extinguished, in exchange for a random stranger’s welfare? His own eyes stung for a moment, and he angrily blinked the moisture away.  
“Roy?” a gentle voice sounded behind him, and he looked up, praying all sign of emotion had been erased. “We’ve finished with the dressing. Dr. Brackett said you can go in now.” Dixie laid a soft hand on his arm.  
Roy managed a small smile. “Thanks, Dix.” He followed her back down the hall to Room Three, and met the chief surgeon as he was exiting the room. “He’s doing fine, Roy,” the stoic doctor answered kindly. “We’ve finished the debridement. His burns are mostly second degree and not extensive, although there are one or two spots Dr. Pierce would like to check tomorrow. If they don’t need grafting, he should be able to go home in a day or two.”  
Roy half-heartedly smiled and nodded, shaking the surgeon’s hand. “Thanks, doc,” he said, his eyes travelling past Brackett’s shoulder to the young man on the examination bed.  
Brackett smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, nodding his head for Roy to go inside. “He’s still groggy from the Versed, but I think he will recognize you.”  
The older paramedic halted inside, pushing down the conflicting thoughts before approaching his friend. As he neared, the younger man opened his eyes into tiny slits, squinting against the overhead lights.  
“Hey, Johnny,” Roy stepped to the edge of the bed, his hand lingering to hover near the cold fingers resting on the coverlet before withdrawing his own hand back awkwardly. “How do you feel, partner?”  
Gage rolled his neck and shook his head, trying to think through the drug-induced haze. “Not…feeling… much of anything… right now,” he mumbled, the corner of his mouth hitching up in his characteristic grin.  
“Well, be thankful for that, pally,” Roy returned the smile. “Doc Brackett says you’ll be outta here in a day or two.”  
“Mmm,” Johnny turned his head towards Roy’s voice, eyes fluttering drowsily. “Thasss great,” he murmured lazily, not comprehending a word.  
This time Roy’s grin was genuine, as he watched his young partner fighting the stupor of the drugs in his system, but a moment later, his smile faltered. “Johnny… I-“ he paused, and leaned over to catch the gaze of the out-of-focus eyes. Roy swallowed. “Johnny, I am so sorry I left you back there…”  
“Hey, man,” his partner blinked hard, and struggled to meet his friend’s gaze, “Itsss the job. Victim first… thasss alwayss… the rule.” He raised a hand to rest momentarily on Roy’s forearm, intent on making himself understood. “You did…only thing…you could do.”  
“But still –“ Roy argued, the guilt struggling to be heard, but Johnny cut him off.  
“I would have done…sssame thing,” he slurred, his eyes finally losing the battle against the Versed and the pain meds. Roy stood for a moment, watching the dark lashes that had closed on the still-pale cheekbones. “Thanks, Junior,” he murmured, pulling the blanket up around the bandaged shoulder. With a final glance at his injured partner, he turned to phone the station for a ride back to the Squad.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Four weeks later, Roy lay in bed, his wife sleeping quietly beside him. He rolled over on his side, careful not to wake her, and his eyes glanced miserably at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 4:30. Roy stifled a groan. He had to get up in an hour and a half, but as much as he tried, he had been unable to sleep for the past hour. Today, Johnny was scheduled to return to work. And although Roy was more than ready to trade his temporary partner in for his best friend, he had a gnawing, hollow feeling in his stomach.   
Roy shifted uneasily. He had never allowed anyone besides Joanne to get very close to him – it was just natural for him to keep to himself. But somehow, he had let someone into his heart, so subtly and so deeply that he hadn’t even realized it had happened, until he had seen the house flash over with his best friend still inside.  
And now he was afraid. It suddenly occurred to him that this new fear was probably what Joanne experienced every day. In the quiet stillness throughout the house, Roy heard his friend’s voice, in a ghostly echo of a past conversation. “You have to remember, if you or me or Drew… if it happens on the job… it kind of happens kinda quickly, you know? We’re not the ones that are left behind. That’s the rough part….” Roy had known that their loved ones faced this every day, but now he was on the other end, experiencing the heart-clutching fear that someone he cared very much about was suddenly going to be taken from his life, leaving nothing but insufficient memories and a gaping hole that would never fully be repaired.  
And behind this new emotion, was another, darker fear – that Roy would be the one to make the decision that would cost his partner irreparable damage, or even his life. Roy sighed in frustration, and rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling. 5:15. And he still had no idea what he was going to do.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Johnny bounced into the locker room, for once arriving in plenty of time for roll call. “Hey, partner!” he greeted jubilantly, glad to be back on duty and sure of a wide grin and warm welcome from the senior paramedic.  
“Hi, Johnny,“ Roy’s tired face broke into a small, pinched grin, with no light behind it. “Welcome back. You feelin’ up to this?”  
Johnny’s mischievous smile had faltered at his friend’s expression, but he answered heartily. “Ready and waiting! C’mon, partner!” He clapped Roy hard on the shoulder and turned to open his locker, not noticing when Roy flinched at his touch.  
After roll-call, Cap divided up the morning’s assignments, and Roy silently walked away to begin clean-up in the dorm, leaving the others to welcome Johnny back heartily. After the chores were finished, the firemen began wandering one by one into the lounge area. Roy walked to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee, then moved to sit at the table. He laughed at a joke Marco was telling at Chet’s expense, and unfolded the morning paper lying on the table, hoping to ease the tight feeling in his stomach.  
“How’s it going, fellas?” John bounded in the room cheerfully, having finished mopping the apparatus bay. The younger paramedic poured a cup of coffee and strolled over to the others at the table, casually leaning over Roy’s shoulder to read the headlines. “Anything interesting this morning?” he mumbled, leaning against his friend’s arm to reach for the last bagel.  
Roy shrugged out from under his elbow and pushed back his chair. “Here you go – I’m done with it anyway.” Johnny took the seat he had vacated and picked up the paper, his mouth full of pastry. Roy quietly left the day room as the others continued on with their breakfast, and he hurried over to his locker on the pretext of taking an aspirin.  
Sitting on the bench in the locker room, alone, Roy gasped for breath rapidly, the sharp feeling in his stomach moving up to squeeze his chest, and he wearily dropped his head in his hands. He had inexplicably panicked at the close contact with his friend back at the dining table. The logical part of his brain knew what was happening, and knew distancing from his friend would not solve the problem, but his heart had been unable to find a solution other than pulling away while he still could, before irrevocable damage had been done to his heart. He should never have allowed himself to become so emotionally vulnerable, but he would permit it to go no further… for both their sakes.  
Normally, the two partners were very tactile – it came with the territory of being a health care worker, and was a natural result of their close friendship, and the bond they shared through life-and-death situations. A brush of the hand on a shoulder or a clasp of the elbow were unconscious reassurances of their partner’s presence and support. At first, Johnny didn’t pick up on the change in Roy’s behavior. They had a couple of calls and by early afternoon, had responded to an automobile accident with multiple car involvement. Ensuring the female driver was stunned but relatively unharmed, Roy left her in the captain’s care and joined his partner, squatting down by the fallen victim from a second vehicle. “What’ve you got?”  
“Driver, no one else in the car. Pupils are equal but sluggish – he’s breathing on his own.”  
“Alright, lemme call Rampart.” Roy reached for the biophone, skirting around Johnny and inching his body away to purposefully avoid contact. He relayed orders from Dr. Morton, and passed over supplies, all the while taking care to avoid his friend’s touch or eye contact. After several minutes, Johnny finally noticed the odd behavior in his partner, and frowned, puzzled. Now aware, he watched as Roy passed him the IV start kit, awkwardly careful not to brush his hand. He paused for half a second in concern, his eyes on the top of his friend’s bent head, but turned after a brief look to start the victim’s IV.  
Roy rode in with the two accident victims, and Johnny followed in the squad, hoping he was being too sensitive, and that he had just imagined Roy’s avoidance at the scene. Rolling the squad back into the station’s bay, John reported the Squad in quarters as Roy turned off the ignition, then hopped out and hurried into the kitchen, eager for a pick-up cup of caffeine to get him through the rest of the afternoon. Instead of following, Roy moved to the right side of the squad and pulled out the drug box, inventorying supplies and going over a checklist they had already reviewed that morning.  
Coming in from hanging line, Chet walked into the dayroom and spied his nemesis, his eyes sparkling mischievously. Then he frowned, noting the older paramedic’s absence. Roy and Johnny were usually within a few feet of each other. “Where’s your shadow?” he smirked, watching as Johnny’s dark head jerked up at his voice. “Been more annoying than usual today?”  
John looked around the kitchen, and frowned. Ignoring the lineman, he brushed past without taking the bait, and went out to the apparatus bay. The young man’s eyes narrowed, watching his friend go through the same tasks they had finished a few hours earlier. Moving around the squad, he squatted down, close to his friend, and remained silent for a moment. Roy continued on with his task, seemingly oblivious to his friend’s presence, but his lips tightened almost imperceptively.   
John sighed. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” he said quietly, glancing over at his partner.  
Roy looked up and met his friend’s gaze for a moment, his eyes sad. “Nothing is wrong. Everything’s fine,” he shrugged.  
Johnny opened his mouth to protest, but the words were drowned out by the SCU alarm. Scowling in frustration, Johnny closed the side equipment doors and Roy hurried around to the driver’s door.  
The engine and squad rolled through the industrial section, pulling up in front of the structure fire at a manufacturing plant, now almost fully involved. Capt. Stanley stepped out of the engine, and looking up at the damage, immediately called to request a second and third alarm. Roy and Johnny pulled on their turnout coats and reported to the side of the building, manning one of the hoses being pumped from Engine 17.  
“Gage, De Soto!” their captain’s voice sounded above the many conflicting sounds from the struggle all around them. Turning the two-inch over to two linemen from Station 45, they jogged to their captain, who was conferring with the battalion chief.  
“Roy, there are reports that one of the custodians is missing. I need you guys to go check it out, Chet and Marco will cover you – but you’ve only got one chance at this. Get in, and get out – I don’t want you taking unnecessary risks.”  
Both men nodded and moved quickly to fetch their gear before joining Chet and Marco near the entrance. Rapidly searching the small offices on the right side of the ground floor, they turned to the stairs leading up to the second story.  
Stepping off the stairwell into the hallway, Johnny shook the sweat from rolling down into his eyes. “Man! It’s getting really hot in here, Roy.”  
His partner looked up and down the hall. “We don’t have much time. You take that way; I’ll go down here. He has to be in one of these rooms.”  
“Okay, pally, see you in a few,” John responded, his voice deceptively light. “Be careful.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder.  
Roy could barely hear his partner’s voice over the approaching engine sirens and the noise from the flames below, but he heard the muffled warning. Looking up, his eyes were inadvertently drawn into the dark brown, and he recoiled, remembering the glazed look of the deadened eyes in his dreams. Not here! Pulling away roughly, he turned and started down the hall, his breath coming in quick gasps, his heart thumping wildly.  
John hesitated for a fraction of a second, staring after his friend in shocked disbelief. Shaking off the questions spinning in his head, he turned his mind to the task at hand.  
The custodian was soon found, with minimal injuries, and Johnny followed the ambulance in the squad, a hollow feeling rumbling in his stomach. His best friend had shied away from him, had looked into his eyes during a moment of crisis and had recoiled in – John couldn’t guess. In distrust? In fear? Usually able to read the silent language in the clear blue eyes, the emotions he had seen there today were foreign, and unreadable. Johnny slammed his palm into the steering wheel in frustration as he backed the squad into the space beside the ambulance outside the ER entrance.   
By the time they had the victim unloaded and settled, the structure fire had been contained, and Dispatch returned them to their station on available status. The ride back home was eerily silent, the space hanging heavily between the two men, who ordinarily were quite content with the pleasant conversation or companionable silence they shared.  
Backing into the station, Roy stepped out of the squad without a word, and moved to the latrine to shower the soot and sweat away. John watched his silent retreat with a sigh, and turned to the kitchen to drain a glass of water. Wanting to replenish the fluids he’d lost he poured another glass and sank down into a chair at the table, turning everything over in his mind, and hoping an opportunity to fix things would present itself. But after his shower and change into a fresh uniform, Roy disappeared into the captain’s office to work on the paramedic’s log, leaving Johnny to clean up and wait by himself in the lounge for the Engine crew’s return.  
Roy did not appear again until the Cap notified everyone that dinner was ready. The older paramedic ambled into the kitchen as Chet was gingerly carrying a steaming pot over to the table. “Come on, fellas, sit down while it’s hot.”  
He lifted the lid with a pot holder, and a savory odor filled the room. “My mother’s Irish stew. Guaranteed to satisfy a working man’s appetite.” Chet glanced around at his colleagues, a proud grin on his face.  
Roy’s eyes darted around the table, and he moved to the opposite end from Johnny, slumping down into a chair without a word. Mike, the last to come to the table, looked at the usually occupied chair next to the youngest crew member, and then glanced quickly at Johnny, noticing the tight set to his lips and the strained look in his eyes. Sliding down into the seat, he managed some conversation. “Ummm, Chet, that actually looks good!”  
“Roy, Johnny,” Stanley said, ladling a bowl-full of the stew and reaching to take a roll, “How was the victim you rescued from the fire this afternoon?”  
Johnny sat stubbornly silent, and Roy stared into his bowl. For the first time, it dawned on the other station members that something was very wrong with their paramedic team. Stanley frowned, looking from one paramedic to the other. Had he missed something? “Roy?”  
“Oh, uh,” Roy started, and looked up to meet his boss’ gaze. “He was okay. Some burns, mostly to his hands, but he should be fine in a couple days.” The blue eyes, normally placid and calm, turned back to his bowl, the eyes reflecting a stormy grey.  
The rest of the meal continued in a strained atmosphere, the other four men trying determinedly to carry on a conversation. After dinner, they turned the television on to watch the eight o’clock movie, and grateful that there had not been a run during the evening, they all turned into bed at an early hour, exhausted from the strenuous fight against the hungry flames at the warehouse.  
During the night, shortly after midnight had passed, John woke with a start, unsure what noise had pulled him back to wakefulness. He stared up at the ceiling, and dropped his left arm over his forehead, wondering yet again what was bothering his partner, and how he could help. Lifting his arm, he rolled his head to the side to check the person in question, only to stare at an empty bed, the coverings thrown back sloppily. At the base of the cot, Roy’s turn-outs were missing from their place by his bunk.  
John frowned, and threw his own blankets off with a shiver, swinging his feet around to propel off the bed. Moving stealthily so as not to wake the others, he stepped quietly through the bay into the kitchen, shivering in the brisk night air. John stopped in the kitchen doorway, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the light.  
Roy sat at the table, a half-filled glass of milk in front of him, his head bent down to rest on folded hands, propped up by his elbows. His face wore an expression of pain, and his friend’s eyes softened in sympathy. Quietly closing the distance between them, John reached up to gently lay a palm on the exposed neck, hoping to relieve the tension so evident on his partner’s face.  
The shoulders slumped a little, and Roy rubbed his face tiredly between his hands. “Cap, I’m sorry, I-“ he looked up and started, recognizing who had come to his aid. Pulling back away from Johnny’s reach, he lowered his eyes and mumbled softly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake anyone.”  
John moved to the other side of the table and slid into a chair across from Roy, his arms folded and leaning on the tabletop. He sighed, and his eyes narrowed. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” He frowned. “Did I do something?”   
“No, nothing,” Roy mumbled, his eyes darting around the room, avoiding the penetrating gaze his partner turned on him.   
“Then why are you mad at me?” John’s voice betrayed his frustration and confusion. “Why treat me like a-” he shrugged, searching for a word, “like a total stranger? C’mon, Roy, what is it?”  
Roy let out his breath in an angry huff, searching his mind for a reasonable answer, and realizing he had none. “I said it’s nothing!” he answered in exasperation, his raised voice quickly hushing to a cold, low tone. “Why do you always assume it’s about you? Don’t you think I could have other issues in my life that don’t revolve around my partner?” He stood up abruptly, unable to remain under the sorrowful, hurt expression from the brown eyes. Storming out of the room, he quickened his pace across the apparatus bay towards the dorm.  
Bewildered, John sat at the table, stunned into silence. After the footsteps’ echo had died away from the bay, he slowly stood up and went into the lounge, flipping the TV on in search of a distraction. He was still there, asleep in the chair, with traces of moisture evident on his lashes, when the Captain found him the next morning.  
The men of A shift changed quickly at the arrival of C shift, anxious to be off for their two day break, and the other crew members cleared out of the locker room swiftly, leaving a painful silence behind as Johnny and Roy entered, having finished their sign-off to the oncoming paramedic team.  
Roy opened his locker and began unbuttoning his blue uniform shirt, his eyes steadfastly gazing at the clean floor. Johnny pulled a thick sweater over his head, darting quick glances at his partner, watching Roy’s face for some sign of what was wrong. Covering his hurt and confusion, he called out as he picked up his bag, “Have a good rest, pally.”  
Roy’s eyes jerked up finally, and stared into his friend’s gaze, unable to look away. “Yeah,” he answered huskily, the hopelessness in his eyes tearing at Johnny’s heart. “You too.” The older paramedic stuffed his wallet in his back pocket and brushed past his friend to hurry out the door, before Johnny could respond.

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John turned the key and stepped into his empty, quiet apartment, looking around forlornly. He glanced into the bedroom across the hall, debating whether he should take a short nap, as the day-room chair had been anything but comfortable, but dismissed the thought quickly, knowing the depression that was blackening his mood would not permit sleep. He plopped wearily down on the sofa, and his eyes fell on the phone. Johnny scowled. Usually, if something were bothering him and he couldn’t shake it, he would eventually end up talking it over with his best friend, and would get either sage counsel, or at least a sympathetic ear. But this time, that wasn’t exactly an option. His heart clutched again momentarily, wondering what it was that had so upset his partner. For a brief moment, he considered calling his aunt, just to hear another voice to loosen the tight feeling in his chest, but quickly dismissed that idea, reflecting scornfully that the phone call would be none too welcome anyway. Drearily, he stood back up and swiped the keys off the end table, hoping a jog in the park would relieve the ache inside.  
Across town, another heart was hurting. Joanne had watched in puzzled concern as her husband moved quietly around the house, beginning on her fix-it list, his mind obviously a thousand miles away. He had greeted her and the children lovingly, but distantly, and had been a bit of a grouch, causing their son and daughter to scurry outside to give Daddy some space. She frowned. Something had happened, something that kept Roy awake at nights and caused him to cling to her with just the slightest desperation, whenever he returned from a shift. But he had refused to open up to her, and she had finally resigned herself to waiting until her husband was ready to talk. The young woman tapped her long nails on the kitchen countertop. She would wait; but she didn’t have to like it.  
Outside, Roy bent over to start the lawn mower engine, sweat already starting to trickle down his forehead in the warm, California morning. The engine rumbled into life, and he grunted, standing to grasp the handle tightly. He had made a disaster of things at the Station. The other guys had warily left him to himself, and he still couldn’t let go of the anguished look on Johnny’s face as he had left the locker room that morning. Angrily, Roy jerked the lawn mower over to begin another row. He knew they didn’t understand, but how could he explain to them the terrible fear that had sprung up in his heart – the dreadful premonition he had that one day he was going to have to make a choice that would cost him more than he was willing to pay?  
Roy spent the rest of his day off moving from chore to chore, vainly trying to numb the worry gnawing at his stomach. He and Joanne finished the day by taking the kids to the movies, and the giggles and shrieks of laughter from his two children eased the knot of tension in his chest, ending the evening in a happier mood than he had felt for days.

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Roy woke up abruptly, his eyes staring wide in panic, his hairline damp with sweat. He sat up quickly, panting in fear, and scanned the bedroom frantically. He’d had another nightmare. Johnny had died again, died in his arms, the breath stilling and the pulse fading while he did everything in his power to save the one life that mattered.  
Roy calmed his breathing and lay back miserably. He closed his eyes and willed his heart to stop racing, but he could still see the pale face and staring, vacant brown eyes. He rolled over and lifted one arm to pull his wife closer to him, but even the feel of Joanne’s soft body curled next to him did nothing to drive the demons away.  
He tilted his head to lean against his wife’s sweet-smelling hair. He had done everything he could to quell a disaster before it happened. He had pushed Johnny away, had tried to detach himself and numb the emotions of friendship tugging at his heart, but it was not working.  
And he missed John. He missed his inane giggle, and missed the brown eyes smiling over at him impishly as he elaborated on his latest crazy scheme. It was as if Roy had left the other half of his soul behind. As that thought crossed his mind, Roy jerked his head up and blinked in surprise. He had never been quite sure what their relationship was, although he knew everyone else had an opinion. Their close camaraderie was evident throughout the department, whether they were responding to a multi-alarm fire or attending a training conference at Rampart, and speculation had run rife amongst those outside of Station 51. Roy grimaced. They were not lovers, in spite of the more lurid comments he’d heard from a few envious outsiders. He chuckled and shuddered at the same time. His petite, ginger-haired wife was more his type than Johnny’s dark scruffiness and skinny butt.  
But nor were they simply adopted brothers from different families – part of the band of the firemen’s brotherhood. It was simply as if that morning long ago, when the younger man walked into Roy’s makeshift office at Headquarters, skeptical and curious, he had raised his eyes to Roy, demanding solid answers, and Roy had looked back into what he subconsciously recognized was the missing piece of his soul. A part of his soul he hadn’t even realized was lost, a part that made him laugh more, and lighten up, and enjoy life, a part that gave him a contented feeling of completion.  
Roy wasn’t sure which was worse – this empty feeling of a soul rendered in two, or the haunting fear that he would allow something to happen to Johnny and would not be able to live with the consequences.  
Their next shift was busy, sending the paramedics on one run after the other. From a structure fire early in the day, to a medical call that puzzled everyone, including the physicians, Station 51 seemed to answer every call that LA county toned out. Finally, after a drunken brawl late in the evening, Johnny and Roy were able to return to the station and wearily hurry to the dorm and their beds, before they were toned out again. The atmosphere in the squad had been eerie and awkward, and neither man had spoken to the other outside of their duties. The night was quiet, and Roy was thankful to catch a few hours sleep without a call, interrupted only when the lifeless face of his dead friend intruded in his dreams.  
The station crew had just risen and was slowly making their way into the day room, when the SCU tones came to life. “Station 51, Truck 82, Engine 28, Engine 11, Tank 14…Plane crash into a structure. 1145 Delmar Drive, 1145 Delmar Drive. Cross street Wentworth. Pasadena is also responding. Time out 07:08.” With a sigh, Roy pulled his turnout coat on and slid behind the wheel of the squad. Johnny jumped in beside him, his eyes darkened and face pale. Roy reflected for a moment that perhaps he had not been the only one to have a restless night, but pushed it from his thoughts as he pulled out in front of the engine into the street.  
Arriving at the site, Johnny stepped out of the squad and stood rooted to the ground momentarily, awed by the sight. A small jet fighter had crashed into the side of a three story apartment building, and was engulfed in flames. Residents were already being evacuated, and the captain quickly called out to his men to take lines up to the second floor. Pulling a two-and-a-half up the ladders, Roy and Johnny followed a group of men from Pasadena down an outside corridor. As they belly-crawled past flames shooting through open doorways, Roy heard a woman’s cry from within one of the apartments. Glancing back at his partner, their eyes instantly communicated, and Roy left the line to retrieve the victim, knowing Johnny would be behind him. Outside, he heard frightened screams, and a flurry of activity, but ignored the extraneous noise and focused on their search. Finding the terrified woman pinned beneath debris, Roy attempted to comfort her as he peered through the increasing haze of smoke.  
“Relax, relax. You’re going to be alright.” Gage reassured the woman, quickly assessing the situation. They would need to get her out quickly – the airplane’s fuel tank was too near the fire, and an explosion was imminent. “Can I help you with something?” he asked Roy, quickly scanning the apartment hallway.  
“Why don’t you take that line?” Roy answered, beginning to wrap the woman with a protective covering. “I’m gonna put this over you,” he explained, not waiting for an answer from the victim. Roy’s worried eyes glanced across the woman to his partner, and Johnny quickly nodded towards the door, his eyebrows raised in alarm. “Come on, alright, stand up….”  
Roy nodded and began to lead the small woman in a crawl across the corridor, seeking the less dense air near the ground, but at that moment, the fire reached the plane’s fuel tank, and a massive explosion rocked the building. Knocked off his feet, Roy glanced around the room for a split second in confusion. Somewhere beyond the smoke and flames outside, a guttural scream of pain rent the air, and the inhuman sound roused Roy from his daze. Quickly rising, his eyes turned from the unconscious woman to his partner. Johnny was lying prostrate on the ground, covered lightly in debris from the ceiling plaster, and Roy thought he saw his partner moving.   
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Roy called, bending to scoop up the woman in a fireman’s hold. “Johnny, are you alright?” He glanced at the younger paramedic again and was dismayed to see Johnny lying motionless, spread out across the floor. Waiting anxiously for any sign of movement, he bit off a curse and shifted the woman in his arms. Not again. This could not be happening again. With a rent in his soul that Roy knew would never be healed, he turned towards the door, his decision made.  
“Alright, got a victim here,” he called out, rushing past the firefighters, intent on delivering the civilian to safety so he could return for his fallen partner. As he rushed by, he overheard one of the Pasadena men calling out, “Hey, look, one of your men is still inside. Cover me.” With a flash of relief, and an incongruous trace of bitterness, Roy continued on his way, carrying the woman down to the waiting squad below.   
The woman was treated along with the other injured, and Roy found he was able to breathe again when he saw his partner materializing some thirty yards away, near 23’s squad. Turning his attention back to the elderly man he was caring for, Roy felt the same flutter of anxiety and guilt eating away in his stomach, and knew that his career was over. He couldn’t continue; he had failed his partner. Again. Swallowing hard several times to push back the nausea, the senior paramedic bent to place the O2 mask over the wheezing victim’s face.  
Half an hour later, the last civilian was packaged and transported in the remaining ambulance, and Roy was released to check on his partner. Walking across the wet pavement to the squad, Roy quickly assessed his friend visually. Someone had supplied his partner with a tank of oxygen, and Johnny was taking deep breaths of the cool gas, seemingly oblivious to the cut above his left eye, trickling blood down his temple.  
Roy sighed and shrugged, silently moving to unpack the trauma box, unable to make eye contact. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.” He stepped forward with an antiseptic wipe and some 4x4s, and Johnny watched his friend closely as Roy began cleaning out the deep gash. There were lines on the senior paramedic’s face that Gage could have sworn were not there at the start of their shift, and a haunted look in his partner’s eyes that puzzled Johnny. At least Roy had stopped avoiding him for the moment, and hadn’t merely turned his care over to someone else. Johnny continued to observe the conflicting emotions that flitted across Roy’s face, reading his partner’s thoughts like an open book. Grief. Anger. Frustration. Guilt. Johnny took a deep breath suddenly as a thought occurred to him, and then coughed violently at the sudden intake of air.  
Roy unfolded the sterile gauze and began taping it over the steri-strips. “Ouch!” Johnny exclaimed, his partner’s gentle ministrations pulling his thoughts back to the present.  
“Alright, alright,” Roy soothed, finishing his task amidst Johnny’s interfering hands. “Here we go.” He gave an exasperated look at his disgruntled patient, and then his tone quieted, until his words were almost imperceptible. “Did a good job,” he assured his partner, looking into his friend’s face with a serious expression.  
Again, Johnny caught the glimpse of tortured soul behind the blue eyes. “That woman…is she okay?” he asked, fearing they had lost their victim in the aftermath.  
Roy nodded, his voice still too quiet and somber. “Yeah, she’s gonna be fine.” He turned to start rolling up the extraneous bandages, and Johnny frowned.   
“Guess I almost bought it in there, huh?” he began, hoping to get his partner to talk about what was really bothering him.  
“Yeah,” Roy answered succinctly, turning to look full into the brown eyes. He held the gaze for several seconds, a silent dialogue passing between the two. Johnny lifted the air mask to his mouth, taking in several deep breaths, as their unspoken communication continued, and Roy winced at the obvious respiratory efforts his friend was experiencing.   
“Wanna know what I would have done if I were in your place?” Johnny asked, his brown eyes peering up over the rim of the mask, refusing to break the contact with his partner, now that he had his attention.  
Roy frowned, caught off guard at Johnny’s direct approach, and turned to face his friend. Johnny continued, lowering the mask to his lap. “I’d have probably thrown both of you over my shoulder, and just,” he paused, a light, swaggering expression on his face, “blew the flames out in front of me.” Johnny shrugged nonchalantly and looked back a Roy, a challenge and an offer of blamelessness in his eyes.  
Roy looked back at his partner for a moment, incredulous at the younger man’s complete indifference to the danger he had been in, and then he grabbed Johnny’s hand over the mask and firmly placed it back on his face. Roy moved to resume packing, a faint smile playing over his lips, but the smile faltered a second later as Johnny’s rescuer approached them. Roy remained bent towards the ground, for all appearances absorbed with the clean-up, but inwardly fighting an unreasonable feeling of antagonism towards the Pasadena lineman who had done his job. After joking for a few minutes with Johnny, the firefighter moved on, and Roy managed to call out a strangled farewell to the departing fireman.   
Straightening, he turned back to Johnny as the younger man began to criticize the Pasadena department’s dress code. Roy smiled a tight but sincere smile, and Johnny raised the mask again, tired and breathless from his long conversation. “Come on, let’s go,” Roy admonished, picking up the trauma box and the O2 tank.  
Johnny lowered his mask, and coughed deeply. “Where?” he frowned, content to rest a few minutes longer. “I’m not through…”  
Roy began walking towards the squad, the O2 tank pulling against the mask Johnny held. “You’re never through,” he tossed back to his friend, another small grin flitting across his face. “Come on; Cap said to drive you to Rampart to get checked out.”  
At Rampart, a grumbling Gage was examined and cleared by Dr. Morton. After the E.R. physician had left with one final parting barb, Johnny jumped off the exam table and began buttoning his uniform shirt. He watched Roy out of the corner of his eye as his partner hung back against the glass cabinets, looking forlorn and troubled.  
“Johnny, I’m sorry,” the senior paramedic murmured huskily, his words abruptly shattering the awkward silence. Johnny glanced up from his task, puzzled. “I…. I’m going to transfer out.”  
The younger man’s head shot up, with a horrified expression on his face. “Transfer? You’re leaving?” he questioned, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He had known Roy was upset, but he never would have imagined that his partner would desert him like that. Once, Roy had considered it. But not now, not after so many years together. “Why?”  
“Because I left you, Johnny,” Roy’s voice was almost shouting in self-recrimination, and Johnny unconsciously took a step back. “Again,” he continued softly, his eyes dropping down to stare at his friend’s soot covered boots.  
“Again?” Johnny repeated, his mind quickly going back over the last two months, since Roy’s change in behavior had started. The brown eyes widened as he remembered. “Is that what this has been all about?” His face contorted into a furious scowl. “Because you had to do your duty to your patients?” Johnny sighed heavily. “Roy, I told you then, it’s part of our job! We’re firemen – Rescue men – the risks are all part of what we signed up for.”  
Roy shook his head, gnawing on his lower lip, his eyes downcast and deadened. “You didn’t sign up for a partner who would abandon you. You have to be able to trust your partner, Johnny…. And I let you down.”  
Johnny growled in irritation, turning to stride across the examination room. “You didn’t ‘abandon me’,” he snarled out through clenched teeth. “You looked after the victim, made sure she was out of danger.” He turned back, and his eyes fell compassionately on his friend, the senior paramedic’s whole demeanor drooping and ashamed. “Roy, it’s okay. It was okay last time; it’s just part of-“  
“No, Johnny, it’s not okay!” Roy lashed out, finally showing a spark of life in his face. “Someday, it’s not going to be okay, and I’ll have to leave you behind for good, and I’ll never be the same again,” he muttered, stark honesty causing him to admit the startling truth he had been faced with.  
His eyes finally looked up to meet John’s, and they held the dark eyes for several seconds. The expression in the brown eyes went from anger, to sympathy, to horror as Johnny began to realize what had been going on in his friend’s mind.  
“Roy…. You can’t do this to yourself; you’re not gonna make it in this line of work if you do.” Johnny shook his head. “You’re just about the best paramedic in the county – heck, you helped start the whole thing, you can’t quit just because of the ‘What Ifs’ that might happen.”  
Roy sighed, shoulders slumping forward as if a great weight had been released by vocalizing his fears. Johnny smiled sadly. “I’ve never blamed you, not once, you know. ‘Get the victim out.’ That’s the Rescue Man’s Number One rule.”  
Roy looked over at his friend, a slight smile spreading across his face, the color slowly beginning to return to his cheeks. “I thought the Number One rule was ‘Don’t Get Emotionally Involved’?” he asked teasingly.  
John’s smile was real this time. “I think it’s too late for that, Pally.” Roy laughed under his breath, and the two men stood silently for a few moments. “Can we at least talk about it?” Johnny begged quietly, and after a moment’s hesitation, Roy nodded. Loosely draping his arm around his friend’s shoulder, John walked with his partner out towards the squad.  
Late that night, Captain Stanley stirred, a rasping cough from somewhere in the dorm rousing him from his sleep. He opened one eye half-way, annoyance filtering through his sleep-fogged brain, and the coughing abruptly stopped. With a sigh, Stanley rolled to face the brick wall, anxious to return to his sleep before they were toned out. But as his mind slowly wakened, the captain’s eyes suddenly popped open, worry for his men chasing sleep away.   
He had been too drowsy to identify who had wakened him, and Stanley stood up to peer around the partition at the other sleeping men. Spying two empty beds, his shoulders relaxed slightly. He should have known. With a sigh, Stanley stepped into his turnouts and crossed the chilly apparatus bay towards the kitchen. Stopping just outside the door, he heard voices from within.  
The coughing sounded again, painful and dry. “I knew you ate too much smoke,” Roy’s voice drifted into the bay. “You should have listened to me and stayed at Rampart.”  
Frowning in concern, the captain angled his head to peer around the corner. Another bout of coughing delayed Johnny’s reply. “I’m fine, Roy,” he finally answered weakly. “I-“ his words were abruptly cut off as Roy pushed the younger paramedic’s arm up to raise the O2 mask back to his face.   
Roy laid one hand on the back of his partner’s neck, and the other was placed over Johnny’s hand to hold the mask securely. The senior paramedic allowed himself a moment to revel in the close contact with his partner that would never have been allowed otherwise, a moment to realize that for today at least his partner was hale and whole, a moment to rejoice in the wide, little-boy brown eyes that were glaring daggers of annoyance at him over the rim of the mask. Roy ignored the glares, seeing that further down in the brown depths, a world of affection was shining through. Their gaze held for several seconds.  
Stanley grinned to himself. Whatever had been wrong, his paramedics had obviously fixed it. He turned and walked away, unnoticed, the sound of the bickering paramedics still in his ears. The captain crossed the dorm towards his bed. All was right in the world.


End file.
